


Past the Precipice

by bruisespristine



Series: Past the Precipice [3]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Drug-Induced Sex, Dubious Consent, F/F, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 15:23:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4924846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruisespristine/pseuds/bruisespristine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“No, I can’t. It feels like I’m going to die if I don’t come.” Root’s voice is rough and clotted with desire, and for a moment Shaw considers dunking her head in the ice bath in order to focus. Root sounds like someone who’s been tortured for hours, held on the precipice and dangled over, denied orgasm again and again. Shaw knows exactly how that sounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Are You Jerking Off?

**Author's Note:**

> [ chapter one translation](http://stumpfeaxt.lofter.com/post/1de04222_ba482cb)   
>  [ chapter two translation](http://stumpfeaxt.lofter.com/post/1de04222_ba825a7)   
>  [ chapter three translation](http://stumpfeaxt.lofter.com/post/1de04222_ba570a3)

The noise of the phone shatters the night, and Shaw is out of bed, gun in her hand before the end of the first ring. She doesn’t stop checking the room as she answers, just in case it’s a distraction tactic. 

“What?” The word is bitten out, angry. This is the best night’s sleep she’s had in awhile, No dreams of Samaritan scarring her rest. Just empty nothingness, which is far preferable. 

“Sameen...” It’s quiet, breathy. Laboured. But Shaw recognises the voice instantly.

“Root? What’s wrong?” She sets the gun down on her bedside table, still irritated but no longer expecting an attack. 

“Oh... Sameen.” Root’s voice is so needy, so liquid that Shaw actually sits down on the bed without meaning to, something in her stomach twisting and coiling into heat. 

“Jesus, Root. Are you... are you _jerking off_?” It seems pretty unlikely, but Root is anything but predictable, and she certainly doesn’t sound like she’s in pain. Her voice is thick with lust. They haven’t spoken about that kiss, that stupid, idiotic kiss Shaw pressed into her mouth in the elevator, like she was handing something over for Root to keep safe. By seemingly mutual agreement it’s not been mentioned, not once since Root destroyed an army to bring her home. Shaw saw the look in her eyes when Root burst into her cell. Saw Shaw chained to a table with her eyes wedged open as the screen in front of her rotated image after image designed to break her down, reconstruct her. The look was something too real for Shaw, it scared her. And Root seemed to be so afraid that she’d break, or leave, or something, that she never pushed. Except, apparently, for now. Shaw was pretty sure Root was masturbating on the other end of the phone line, and that’s a whole new thing. Anger floods her. This is not okay, Root should know better. 

“Please. Something’s... oh, something’s wrong.” Shaw blinks, mind snatched out of the gutter, the image of Root with her hand shoved down her black panties erased by something far less enjoyable. 

“Where are you?” There’s another sharp intake of breath and then the connection cuts, dial tone replacing Root’s harsh breathing. Fuck. Shaw dials back with one hand, yanking her black pants on over the boxers she sleeps in, but there’s no answer. A text message comes through before she can hang up on Root’s voicemail. 

_216-4390 Beckindale Street._

The number isn’t recognised, so it must be the Machine, which hardly deigns to talk to any of them anymore. But Shaw has an address, and that’s what she needed.

She leaves rubber on the street as her car streaks onto the main road, narrowly avoiding five or six head on collisions as she breaks dozens of laws to get there.

The apartment door is locked, and instead of picking it she kicks it down, some sick feeling in her stomach telling her she doesn’t have much time. Root is lying, sprawled on the sofa, flushed pink with sweaty hair sticking to her face. And her hand down her pants. 

Fuck.

“Fuck you.” Shaw spits the curse out, turning on her heel, anger fanning up in the wake of something she refuses to describe as fear. 

Behind her, Root’s eyes snap open, rolling back. “Oh god. Please.” Shaw has never heard anything so desperate, so pleading, and it settles into a slow burn in her stomach. A text buzzes in her pocket, and for some reason, she checks her phone, although she refuses to look back, frozen in the doorway.   
_  
5-(2-fluorophenyl)-1-methyl-7-nitro-1H-benzo[e][1,4]diazepin-2(3H)-one  
//  
3,4-methylenedioxymethamphetamine  
//  
six hours  
_  
The Machine. The chemical formulas are familiar but it takes Shaw a few seconds to place them. Rohypnol and MDMA? What the hell has Root been doing? Behind her another moan, punctuated with heavy breathing breaks the silence, and almost robotically, Shaw turns around. Root has one leg hooked over the back of the sofa, her shirt thrust up exposing her chest, and she’s looking right at Shaw.

“It hurts. Fuck, it hurts.” 

“It looks like it.” Shaw’s words come out clipped and hard. She doesn’t know what to do. Root should probably be taken to a hospital, but the idea of calling an ambulance and letting other people see her like this doesn’t sit well with Shaw. She slams the door, back into it’s damaged frame. Her feet carry her across the room against her better judgement, and she rests her hand on Root’s forehead, trying not to look down. Root reeks of sex, it’s tangy and visceral, Shaw can taste it in her throat, and it’s one of the most distracting things she’s ever encountered. The hacker is burning up, and when Shaw takes her pulse it’s too fast, although with Root’s hand thrusting between her thighs like she’s trying to scrub herself clean, it’s hardly surprising. 

“Can you please stop that?” Shaw is pleased at how calm she sounds as she gets to her feet, walking swiftly to the bathroom with the intention of turning the shower on. She falters in the doorway. The bath is full of water, chunks of ice floating in it. 

“No, I can’t. It feels like I’m going to die if I don’t come.” Root’s voice is rough and clotted with desire, and for a moment Shaw considers dunking her head in the ice bath in order to focus. Root sounds like someone who’s been tortured for hours, held on the precipice and dangled over, denied orgasm again and again. Shaw knows exactly how that sounds.

“C’mon.” Lifting her up isn’t easy, her limbs are shaking and uncontrollable, like she’s on the very brink of an explosion that’s going to decimate her. Shaw manages, though, and drops her in the bath fully clothed, splashing herself and the bathroom with equal abandon. “We’ve gotta get your temperature down.” 

Root laughs, her hand stilling for the first time, and a manic look on her face as she lolls her head back against the cool ceramic. “This is the fourth ice bath. It only helps for a moment. The freezer’s full, if you want to top me up. The Machine sent me a delivery.” 

“Did you manage to keep your hands out of your pants when it arrived?” There’s a bitter note in Shaw’s voice, and Root sinks down as though she’s hiding from it, until her whole head is underwater. She’s shivering now, her nipples in tight, dark points under her soaked shirt. Shaw can barely take her eyes off them. 

While she’s submerged, Shaw grabs her phone and replies to one of the messages the Machine sent. _What do I do?_

Root doesn’t seem to be in any actual danger, although the strain on her heart is something to keep an eye on. After Control, things have been hard for Root sometimes. 

_Help her._ The message makes her jump, even though she was expecting it, and she rolls her eyes in pure exasperation. What does the Machine think she’s trying to do? Root bursts out of the water with a huge breath, liquid running off her face in rivulets Shaw kind of wants to lick. Scowling to repress the urge, she quirks her eyebrow at Root in question. 

“Better?” 

“No.” It’s coming back, Shaw can see it in her face. Root’s pupils are large, her lips slack and colour is rising in her cheeks again, despite the chill of the water. 

Shaw hates feeling helpless, it’s like being back on the table, trapped. She can’t leave Root here, like this, in case she has a heart attack. She won’t call an ambulance, and God forbid Harold or John would see her like this. Finch would probably keel over on the spot, and Reese is only useful if something needs shooting. Weirdly, Shaw thinks _Fusco_ would be better than either of them, but she’s not calling him either, which means she’s on her own. And with Root looking at her like that, begging for her, begging for release, Shaw’s carefully built up walls are crumbling. 

“Do you think it’ll stop if you come?” She can hardly look at Root as she says it, darting her eyes around the room like the answers might be written on the tiles.


	2. Chapter 2

“Fuck, I hope so.” Root is staring at her mouth, trembling with either cold or arousal, Shaw can’t tell anymore. So Root sees the exact moment her brain says ‘fuck it’ and she leans in. Root’s mouth is cold and Shaw bites her shaking lower lip, sliding her hands into the freezing water and under Root’s goosefleshed arms. The kiss doesn’t break as she helps Root to stand, hauling her out of the bathwater and then Shaw’s soaked too as Root plasters herself against her, wrapping a leg around the smaller woman’s hip and thrusting forward with a groan.

Clearly, there’s no place for foreplay here, no place for teasing. They stumble through the main room, shedding dripping clothes as they go. Root’s skin warms to a feverish heat as Shaw presses her into the bed, wedging a thigh between her legs and grinding forward. Root digs her fingernails into Shaw’s back so hard she feels the skin breaking, and the low sound torn from her mouth is swallowed. 

Shaw’s still wearing her boxers, and the silk is light and ticklish against her oversensitive skin. Root cries out in displeasure as Shaw pulls up, yanking her boxers down with one hand and kicking them off, almost kneeing Root right in the groin in a display of clumsiness that’s totally alien to her. But she wastes no time, squirms down the bed and sinks her teeth into the tender flesh of Root’s thigh, sucking and laving it with her tongue. 

Root’s whole body stiffens, and for a second Shaw thinks she’s coming, thinks it’s already over before it’s even begun, but Root’s legs wrap tightly around her body, struggling to force Shaw to when she needs her, and hands dart into her hair to yank her head over. The tugging sends shards of heat jabbing into her, and she bites down once more, the skin giving between her teeth in a way that turns her own groin to syrup and then relents, releasing Root’s leg in favour of more desperate territory. 

Root’s trembling like an overstrung bow, arching her hips up so needily that she’s lucky Shaw throws an arm over her waist, pinning her down, or else she probably would have slammed herself into Shaw’s teeth. Her pussy is dripping, potent, swollen and puffy with desire. Shaw seals her mouth over Root’s cunt, thrusting her tongue as deep as she can, and Root let’s out a choking cry, fingers spasming in Shaw’s hair. 

“Please, please,” it’s murmured like a prayer, and Shaw is so embarrassingly turned on that she grinds herself down against the mattress, desperate for some contact of her own, while she works her fingers into the fluttering opening under her tongue. Root’s so wet and ready that two fingers hardly touch her, just make her writhe and squirm, hunting for more contact.

Shaw squeezes her thigh in comfort before trailing her other hand through the wetness below her chin, coating her first two fingers and slipping them home easily, the backs of her index fingers pressed together, left hand below her right hand, pushing at each other and stretching Root out. 

The hacker wriggles, legs trembling, and Shaw resists her urge to take it slowly, to enjoy it. Root doesn’t need enjoyment, she needs an orgasm, and so what if Shaw wants to indulge herself. She knows that this night will be played back over and over and over again in her head, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay to string it out. Root needs to come. Shaw is good at making people come. She wraps her lips around Root’s clit, sucking gently for a moment, and then harder, harder. She flashes the tip of her tongue over the delicate flesh, fingers thrusting in and out, dragging the pads over the spongy bud inside that makes Root jump and her hips stutter. 

The orgasm, when it hits, almost breaks Shaw’s nose against Root’s pubic bone, and she has to use all her strength to hold Root against the bed so she can work her through it, ride it out with her. Root tastes so good Shaw can hardly bring herself to stop pressing wet kisses to her twitching flesh, but her own need is thrumming in her spine with such demand she can barely concentrate. 

Her hand is slick with Root as she thrusts it between her legs, pressing down with just the perfect amount of pressure to spike pleasure through her whole body. She circles her fingers frantically, wanting to orgasm before Root comes down, already feeling a little like an enormous creep, which actually is adding to her arousal, if anything. She leans her sweaty cheek against Root’s trembling thigh and forces herself not to bite when she comes, violently, choking off a cry. Root’s hands are still in her hair, and they tighten pleasantly, sparking another, smaller wave of ecstasy. Shaw’s usually a one and done kind of girl, so the second peak takes her by surprise and she groans, dragging her teeth against the tender skin of Root’s hipbone, prompting another shudder out of the wrung out hacker. 

They lie in silence, Shaw between Root’s legs, for several minutes before she drags herself upright, refusing to look at the debauched woman spread-eagled behind her. “Better?” Her voice is rough with a hard edge she wishes wasn’t there, but doesn’t know how to get rid of. 

Root doesn’t say anything, and the room is suddenly stifling Shaw, thick with the scent of sex and sweat. She doesn’t know what to do, whether she should leave, if Root is safe now. She’s 95% sure she’s not unconscious because she can hear her irregular breathing, but she doesn’t know where to go from here. Should they pretend they didn’t just have mind blowing sex while Root was thoroughly under the influence of chemical arousal? If she leaves, will this just become another, unspoken about note in their trainwreck of a non-relationship. If she stays are they going to have to talk about it? 

She gets to her feet, ignoring the tug in her gut that says she’s not done, that she wants to crawl on top of Root and grind against her until they both come undone, that she wants to sit on Root’s face and pin her to the mattress and go to town on each other.

Lost in thought, the hot hand on her back comes as a total shock, and makes her take a quick step away, whirling around to face the ‘threat’ without conscious volition. Root has slid forward, the sheets crumpled under her as she slid her legs off the bed. 

Shaw’s eyes snap down to the livid purple mark on her inner thigh, and then back up to Root’s face. She can’t read what she sees there, but she’s never been great at emotion, at people, and Root doesn’t say anything. Shaw bites back her confused feelings and turns to leave, stomping out of the room. Root looks relatively okay now, after all.


	3. Chapter 3

The hacker follows her on unsteady legs, and finds the assassin looking down at the trail of wet clothes littering the living area with an empty expression. “Sameen.” 

“Don’t.” She bites it out, raw and full of teeth. Don’t what, she’s not sure. Don’t talk is definitely up there. Shaw hates to talk about feelings, and emotions, and whatever fuck else should probably happen if you were a normal person who just fucked your friend and coworker. 

Root can still feel the drug in her veins, but it’s muted, quieter. She steps lightly across the room, pressing herself up against Shaw’s back and sliding a hand down her stomach, trailing it through the moisture she finds at the apex of Shaw’s legs without Shaw pulling away.

“I want to taste you.” It seems easier, this way. Easier than asking her to stay for anything other than sex, but there’s a small part of Root that thinks maybe if they fuck each other hard enough, long enough, that Shaw will stay. That she won’t have to be alone with her heated mess of a body and her lonely, desperate heart that’s been shuddering in her chest since the day Shaw left her behind. 

Shaw doesn’t pull away, but doesn’t push into her touch either, just stands, her breathing hitching but giving no other sign that she’s affected by what Root is doing. So Root bites down on the back of her neck hard enough to make her flinch, whether she wants to or not, and Shaw growls, knocking Root’s hand away from her groin and spinning around, eyes flashing. Root grins at her, lifting her slick fingers to her mouth, and holding eye contact as she cleans them off with her tongue. 

Shaw’s face slackens, eyes glazing over a little, and a moment stretches out like toffee between them, sweet and thick and heavy. Then somehow Shaw has closed the distance between them without seeming to move, is sliding her hands down Root’s sides and thrusting her tongue into her mouth, pushing insistently until they’re back in the bedroom and Root’s legs hit the mattress for the second time that night. 

Shaw climbs up her body, graceful and predatory, until she is hovering over Root’s face and it’s the most incredible thing Root has ever seen, Shaw looking down at her, tight stomach and full breasts and oh god, her pussy just inches from Root’s tongue. She reaches up for it, dragging her nose through Shaw’s most delicate folds and Shaw actually whimpers, although Root is one hundred percent sure that she would deny it with a straight face if she brought it up later. 

The taste of her is better than Root has ever envisioned, on the countless nights she’s tried. Root yanks on her thighs, pulling her down for better access, but Shaw has other ideas, spinning around and denying Root the contact for ten awful seconds before settling back, facing down the bed, and pressing open mouthed kisses to Root’s hipbones that make her flutter her eyelids closed. She buries her face in the wet warmth of Shaw and groans into her when her legs are man-handled open so Shaw can do the same. 

The fucking this time is slower, more intimate, somehow, but still rough and both of them are striped in red, nail marks down their thighs by the time they come in each other’s mouths, almost at the same time. Shaw rolls off her, sweat sticky skin pressed against her side, and Root doesn’t even want to look at her in case she sees leaving on her face, but Shaw doesn’t get up, just folds her arms under her head and either stares at the ceiling, or closes her eyes, Root can’t tell. 

Birds start chirping outside the window, but Shaw still doesn’t leave. Neither of them relax into sleep, although Root feels so wrung out and empty that she knows darkness will take her as soon as she lets it. Her pussy is throbbing with a half-painful, half-pleasant afterglow. She needs the bathroom pretty badly, but is convinced that if she moves then Shaw will be gone when she gets back, and she doesn’t want that at all. She resists the idea firmly, telling her bladder that really it’s not full, it’s just the sex that’s confused it. Shaw gives an aggrieved sigh, propping herself up on one elbow, and when Root tentatively looks at her, she’s scowling. 

“Go and pee. You’re squirming.” She is, Root realises, tensing and untensing her legs. And trust Shaw to know her so well that she knows when Root needs to pee. She wants to ask if Shaw will stay, but the words won’t come out, and Shaw pushes her hip. 

“Go on. And open the window while you’re up. It’s stuffy in here.” There’s not quite a smile playing around her lips as she says it, but Root can’t help the huge grin that spreads across her face as she slithers out of the bed. Shaw’s voice follows her into the bathroom. 

“And order some food. I’m starving.”


End file.
